"He is asleep, and is saved, please Heaven!" he said in a grave voice.
All that Austin Ambrose had accomplished was as nothing to the task that loomed before him.
The time must come when Blair would ask for Margaret, and insist upon seeing her.
Many men would have shrunk from such an ordeal, but Austin Ambrose was not the man to allow sentiment, as he would have called it, to interpose between him and a long cherished design; so that when, on awakening from the deep sleep which saved his life, Blair asked: "Where is Margaret?" Austin Ambrose was prepared.
"Blair," he said, laying his hand upon the sick man's, "are you strong enough to hear what I have to tell you? I trust so, for I cannot keep it from you."
"Keep it from me! What is it?" demanded Blair, trying to raise himself. "Is it anything to do with Madge? No, it can't be, of course. But why doesn't she come? Ah, I see—give me a minute, Austin," and he turned his head away. "My accident has frightened her, and she is ill."
"Yes, she is ill!" said Austin Ambrose, watching him closely. "Blair, for Heaven's sake, be brave, be calm."
"What is it? You haven't told me all," he exclaimed. "Don't turn your face away; tell me. Anything is better than suspense. Let me go to her—bring her to me. She can't be so ill——" he paused, breathlessly.
Austin Ambrose laid his hand upon his shoulder.
"Blair, dear, dear Blair," he murmured; "she cannot come to you; you cannot go to her. She has been very ill—Blair, your wife is dead!"